Matching Scars
by PirateAngel1286
Summary: One shot told in 3 pov. Set just about 3 years post AWE, Will, Elizabeth, and Jack contemplate the scars on the palms of their hands and just what came from it.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Just some random thoughts from the characters. Enjoy.

* * *

_Will -_

The sun had just set in the land, or rather sea of the undead and it was beautiful as always. I stare at the sky as though it will give me the thing I want most but I know it will not. It's been, what now, two, three years since I left her.

My beloved Elizabeth.

I wonder if she is looking to the sun rise.

Is she keeping loyal to me? I believe that she is of course.

I turn away from the sea and walk around the deck. Everyone is down in the galley having a bit of a night off and I want to keep them happy. Being their Captain and all that, you know.

"Captain," I mutter shaking my head.

Never in millions of years did I ever picture myself being Captain of anything let alone a ship that ferries the dead. It's a bit chilly tonight so I rub my hands together to keep them warm.

It's still there.

The scar from my very first (okay, maybe second) adventure out at sea. From the dagger inside the chest when they needed my blood.

It's still there.

The adventure that brought me eventually to my destiny. Looking out to the horizon once more, I can't help but wonder if I had never received that medallion, just how different would my life be? Would I have ever left to find my father?

Yes, probably since he was out there somewhere according to my mother.

Yet, would I have ever gotten close to Elizabeth?

She was the Governor's daughter and as such of a much higher ranking as me. Now that I know she held my medallion for eight years, if she hadn't held it then where would I be?

Probably still making swords and watching from afar as she married a man she probably didn't even love.

But would she love me?

* * *

_Elizabeth -_

I still contemplate the mark on my left hand palm. It goes in a straight line and is still bumpy. It has yet to heal and I don't believe it ever will.

Oh Will. How I wonder often if you are alright.

The sun rising is just gorgeous as I slipped out of the house leaving our precious son to his dreams.

The son who already looks and acts so much like you that it is almost like having you with me.

It is early and yet there is not a cloud to be found in the sky. Perhaps I'll take little William to the water. I am standing in the shallows of it myself and it's particularly warm today already.

When I am near the water, I feel closer to you Will.

I wish I could be with you though. Physically, emotionally.

I feel cut off. We used to always know what the other was feeling at all times but now it is barely traceable.

Perhaps there's a chance of us crossing paths one day at sea. I know that once William is old enough we are going to return.

Maybe you will meet your son and know him and love him before your ten years are up. For now though all we have is hope.

William Turner, you'd better return to me a whole and still loving individual. I don't want to have to explain to our son why his father has tentacles and the like.

Looking once more to the vast horizon, I blow you one last kiss because our son is waking soon most likely and I must go.

I love you William Turner and don't you ever forget that.

Ever.

* * *

_Jack - _

It's still pretty early in the day (alright, so it was about 2 o'clock in the afternoon) and here I am in **my** cabin in **my** chair with **my** feet propped up on **my** table.

The Black Pearl is mine and I'm never, ever, going to lose sight of it again. Took too bloody long to get it back the first time.

Why do my hands bloody itch?

Looking down, I see the wound still there. Inflicted by my own sword it was.

And just what did I gain from it? Friendship, that's what.

I hadn't had friends in years until I met those two. Sure I had "friends" if you can call those who were willing to either give me a lift or spend the night with my company and other such things.

Alright, maybe I consider Gibbs a friend too, savvy? And Bootstrap.

Two bloody hormonal, practically in their teen years they were, were better friends to me than I'd had my whole life.

Of course then the whelp had to hit him on the head and his bonnie lass tricked me into being shackled to my ship.

Looking past all the bad now, there was some good.

Sort of.

Scars that held them together. Scars that, though they might never heal, told of the pain in life.

When did I become so bloody philosophical? I need a drink.

* * *

Thanks for reading. 


End file.
